


Cabin in the Woods

by DumbestBitchhh



Category: Cars (Pixar Movies)
Genre: F/F, only each other for warmth, they're lesbians
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:01:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22134472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DumbestBitchhh/pseuds/DumbestBitchhh
Summary: Lightning and Sally enjoy a romantic getaway.
Relationships: Sally Carrera/Lightning McQueen
Kudos: 6





	Cabin in the Woods

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry, this jumps around a lot and isn't really like a lot of my other stuff haha. Just felt like writing it. Almost didn't post it but here we are.

Sally’s driving, for once. You never give up the wheel, but you’re still kinda hungover from the party last night and in this weather, definitely shouldn’t be driving. You huff. “Babe, the speed limit’s 35.”

Her eyes meet yours in the rearview mirror. “I’m going 40. Would you calm down?”

You shift. “I’m cold.” The heat in this car’s iffy, but neither of you wanted to take your sports cars on this trip, so Mater loaned you his barely functional truck.

She sighs. “Yeah, me too. Can’t believe we thought we should get away to someplace even more in the middle of nowhere then we already are.”

You smile. “Well, a cozy cabin sounded romantic at the time.”

“At least I get you all to myself.” Her eyes twinkle, and you shift in your seat for a whole different reason.

You’re shivering, pulling your sweatshirt tighter as Sally fumbles for the keys to the cabin. “It’s fucking cold.”

She clicks her tongue. “Shoulda brought a warmer jacket.”

You ignore her, looking around at the dirty snow, grey and icy. It rained on the drive up, and the trees are dripping little drops of death. “Just hurry up.”

She pushes the door open, rolling her eyes. “M’lady.”

You run inside and stop short. “It’s just as fucking cold in here.”

Sally’s somehow already on the other side of the room, fiddling with a furnace. “Well, we have to turn this on first.” You walk over, looking over her shoulder. She glances up, a little sheepish. “Do you know how to turn it on?”

You roll up your sleeves then regret it and pull them back down. “Yeah, babe. I got this. Basically a car engine, right?”

“Well, no--” but you’ve already pushed your way in, and she steps back.

After 15 minutes, Sally’s moved everything in, and you’re on the phone with Mater, thankful for your one bar. “No, I know, you don’t think I-- Yeah.” You hang up and look at Sally. “Does this place have a fireplace?”

You stare at the fire. “Well, at least it’s not as bad now.”

Sally smiles. “And it’s romantic.” 

You glance at her, the way the glow of the fire accents the flush of her cheeks and dances in her eyes. “Yeah.” You glance down. Her sweater is falling off of her shoulder, and you feel like a twelve year old boy for blushing at the sight of her bra strap. “Only each other for warmth.”

She wrinkles her nose in an almost-laugh. “We’ve got a--”

“Only each other for warmth.”

She smiles. “Guess you won’t be needing this whiskey, then?” She produces a bottle from Sheriff’s collection.

Your mouth drops. “Fine, only each other and a little whiskey for warmth.”

It only takes a little whiskey to make you forget the cold. You nuzzle into her neck, kissing her smooth skin. She breathes sharply, leaning into you, cooing softly. You pull her in to kiss you, both of you a little sloppy but neither caring at all, pressing closer and closer, wanting more and more.

She unzips and pulls off your sweatshirt, revealing your sports bra underneath. She takes a moment to scoff, “No wonder you’re so cold,” then kisses your chest, her hands warm on your back pulling you as close as possible.

You decide if you have to go without your sweater she should too, so you pull it off, revealing another long sleeve shirt, of course. Practical. You pull that off, too, as she laughs. Her chest is as flushed as her cheeks, round soft and warm. You press her down to the floor, aching to spread her out, take your time.

She stops you. “This floor is fucking--”

Oh, shit-- “Oh, shit-- yeah. . . where’s the bed?”

On the bed, you push her back down, watching her body arch into the soft blankets. Her hair is loose, spread all around her like some kind of angel, dark against the white sheets. She takes off her bra, still laughing, always laughing. You straddle her, drinking in the sight of her warm skin, her smooth curves, her deep dancing eyes. But you can’t stay here forever.

You slide down her pants, kissing her thighs, smiling as she squirms and moans, biting her lip. You pause, your hands on her tits, so perfect and round, flicking her nipples, until she looks at you sharply. You take one in your mouth, your hand reaching between her legs, your fingers slipping into her as she gasps and arches into you, her hands squeezing the blankets tight. You bite a little, moving your fingers faster, harder,

“Fuck, baby,” she moans, “Yes. Like that. So good.” Her hair is sticking to the sweat on her forehead, she’s glowing now. She pushes your shoulders until you look into her eyes. “Get on your knees for me.”

Fuck the cold floor, you spill out of the bed onto your knees, ready and waiting. Her thighs grip against you as she straddles you, she’s intoxicating. You slip your tongue between her lips, gentle at first, then, “Harder,” she gasps, and you press your tongue against her, harder, harder, until you feel a shiver through her body. She collapses on the bed, panting, sighing, and you clean her up a little with your tongue before she pulls you back up to her and kisses you, tasting herself on your lips.

You work on taking your sports bra off without pulling a muscle while she wiggles you out of your pants, running her hands along the length of your body. Finally, it’s all off, and it’s her turn to pin you to the bed. You can’t help but whimper, which only makes her smile mischievously.

She sucks on your tits, her hand roaming your leg aimlessly as if you aren’t grinding against her and begging her to use her fingers. They move closer and closer, flicking, teasing till you’re almost to tears. “Please, Sally,” She puts one in, all the way, and you arch into her, all dignity forgotten. “More, please,” but she’s so slow, playing with you, going too shallow, not giving you enough.

Suddenly, she slides three in, moving fast. You gasp, “Oh fuck, I’m close, Sally,” She pulls out and sits back on her heels.

You pull yourself up to look at her, still panting. “What. . . the fuck.”

She just smiles, her curls in a misleading halo around her face. Goose bumps are spreading across your naked body, and you’re shivering uncontrollably, from cold, from need. “Sally!” It’s a broken plea.

She laughs and presses herself against you again, rubbing your nipples, kissing your neck. You grind against her, past words.

Finally, finally, she slides her fingers into you, pulsing against you, sending waves through your body, the relief making them so much more intense, and quickly, you feel it build and course through you, and let your head drop back onto the pillow.

She climbs up to you, licking you off of her fingers, grinning wildly. “I don’t think the cold will be a problem.”


End file.
